Strength and Honor
by bahu
Summary: Long before Klingons have met humans, they accused a young Klingon of cowardice and banned him, but the emperor's scheming made sure this Klingon left in a state-of-the-art ship.
1. Supreme Court

my summary:  
  
For destroying his vessel while retreating from an unknown enemy, a young Klingon finds himself hated by his people and promoted by the highest council ... on condition that he returns to face this enemy once more.  
  
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The Klingon court never had very much to do with justice. It felt more like an arena, with a circular bottom where the accused was standing like a gladiator waiting for the "thumbs down" signal. There were tribunes all around the sandy pit, with angry Klingons venting their fury , swaying their fist and bellowing the most hideous insults at the young Klingon in the middle. This was the very same court where, centuries later, Captain Kirk of the starship Enterprise would be condemned to forced labor. Right now, the tribunes were swaying under the rage of the mob. The air reverberated under the booming shouts of men and women. The judge was furiously pounding his official mallet. A rain of sparks jumped off the heavy iron sphere and illuminated the lower regions of the court and the pit, but the thunderous sound was completely drown out by the warriors, screaming for revenge.  
  
  
  
In the centre of this hurricane, a Klingon man was standing proudly erect. His arms crossed his chest, one foot slightly in front of him in a calm, but attentive posture, he watched the judge calling for silence. Though his stance was proud, this Klingon couldn't hide the bruises and scars from his recent imprisonment. His clothes were torn apart where his guards ripped away some of the medals of honor. The ragged leathery uniform showed the muscles of the emprisoned warrior, accentuating what a formidable man this prisoner was. It must have taken several strong Klingon guards to bully an ex-military of his posture. His arms and legs were muscular, and his powerful jaw worked slowly, as he looked around to take in the crowd. His eyes paused briefly on a bench to his right. Two older Klingons were staring tightly at him, their bodies unmoving, but it was their eyes that hurt the accused most. Their eyes were filled with disappointment. The prisoner breathed in slowly, his chest rising to an ominous volume, and deflating again. His attention turned away from the couple to watch the judge again, now that the thunderclap of the mallet could finally be heard. The crowd was settling slowly and reluctantly.  
  
  
  
- "Silence, silence!" the iron sphere was wielded one last time, and the mighty booming sound bounced its way up, overpowering the last insults and mutters. Echos settled down relucantly, and the judge looked around in grim satisfaction. When the last sparks had died away, prisoner and judge were looking at each other, each one measuring the other slowly and carefully.  
  
  
  
- "K'Raqt Vehl, of the clan Vehl, by the power investigated in me by the Highest Council, I will hear your case and court martial you according to custom and honor. Will you accept my judgment?"  
  
  
  
Prisoner and judge were exchaning measuring glances again. The silence was stretched only milliseconds, but it was long enough for the judge to feel the undercurrent of challenge from this prisoner.  
  
  
  
- "I accept your judgement," came the answer finally. K'Raqt had a powerful voice, he barely had to raise it to be heard by the crowds. Not that they needed to hear his answer: the first few sentences were no more than tradition. The accused shifted weight leasurely to hear the next part of the ritual.  
  
  
  
- "Now then. K'Raqt of the clan Vehl, hear me! You stand accused ..." the judge paused momentarily, glancing his paper quickly, and then drawing breath. "Accused of neglect of duty, conduct unbecoming an officer of the Klingon empire, endangerment of the men entrusted to you, disobedience to several higher ranking officers, cowardice, desertion, and ... treason to the Klingon empire. How do you plead ?"  
  
  
  
There is only one possible answer to the ritual question.  
  
  
  
- "I plead ... not guilty."  
  
  
  
That was not the traditional answer. The judge made the mistake of staring at K'Raqt in sudden surprise. By the time he had recovered, the crowd was again in a frenzy, shouting and stamping and demanding a cruel death for this traitor. The screaming would not stop, not for the judge demanding silence, not for the long volleys of thunderclaps with the mallet. Not even for the guards, who stormed into the pit with their Bat'Leh in their hands. At long last, the judge signalled for the prisoner to be taken away from the deafening noise.  
  
  
  
Session adjourned.  
  
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The Highest Council resided in a room bearing many resemblances to Earth's medieval cathedrals. Massive pillars reached up and seemed to get lost in the perpetual dusk under the high ceiling. Small stripes of light only accentuated the half-dark, as did the torches scattered randomly across the cold space. In the middle of the stone floor was a wooden table, a simple rugged construction, surrounded by simple wooden stools. Only one chair showed some signs of luxury, but even this privilege for the Chairman of the Highest Council would seem Spartan, to Terran eyes.  
  
  
  
Clustered in small groups, the members of the Council were talking to each other, barking and gesturing as they vented their opinions. None of them were seated, some had planted their foot on one of the stools while they were listening to the others. Suddenly, the massive wooden entrance doors opened ponderously, grating their way over the stone floor. In came the chairman of the Council.  
  
Traq'Thor walked more or less like he looked. But then again, not entirely. It was as if, just because he looked old and people expected him to be slow and fragile, he'd adopted a slow and somewhat distracted way of walking, a gentle trot that belied the power still inside. He nodded solemnly to each member of the High Council as he passed them, and each of the councelors paused their conversations, and inclined their head in return. When Traq'Thor reached his chair, he gripped one of the arms and slowly lowered himself to be seated. The rest of the Council ceased their conversation and followed his example.  
  
  
  
- "Bring in the prisoner!" Traq'Thor nodded to the guard at the door. The order was repeated several times down the military hierarchy, each time a little harsher and a little louder. Finally, the cry reached the end of the space, and the accused was pushed through the door.  
  
  
  
K'Raqt quickly regained his balance, and walked to a respectable distance of the table. There was little light to go by, but as his gaze wandered over the faces of the Council, he met nothing but contempt and hateful glares. Maybe these eldern were not so blatant about their feelings as the audience in the court - "the pit," as K'Raqt has renamed it for himself -, but the hatred was there, nevertheless, and it was barely suppressed.  
  
  
  
The ex-warrior stiffled a sigh. Honor is ... a difficult thing, he mused. Only a few weeks ago, the path of honor seemed so clear. He was to return to the empire, at all cost, and warn them about the danger at hand. When he finally reached the blood-red homeplanet of the Klingons, his relief soon turned into bafflement as he was unceremoniously thrown into prison, accused of cowardice and treason. And now he was facing the Highest Council itself, as if they had taken it as a personal offense that he had retreated from an unknown enemy, putting the empire to shame, exposing himself as a coward. He remembered considering this emprisonement as a very hypothetical possibility: that he would be called a coward for fleeing. He also remembered dismissing the insults as a small cost, in order to save the Empire. Tvorak, his best friend, had shaken his head and smiled briefly. Tvorak was probably dead, now. K'Raqt wondered which of two he would prefer, right now. It was not difficult to guess what Tvorak had preferred. But then again, Tvorak had called his best friend "the braver man". K'Raqt found solace in that, and he straightened his back to face the Council. 


	2. High Council

Thank you, Tracy, for me know you appreciated it! I know it took a long time for me to update the darn thing, but I hope you'll come back for another read.  
  
The story is going a bit slowly to my liking, but I hope I can speed things up now that everything has been set in motion. In the third chapter, K'Raqt will be on his way again. yay :)  
  
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- "Come nearer, young man." Traq'Tor gestured the prisoner to come a little closer. Surprisingly enough, it was almost a sympathetic gesture. K'Raqt studied the president's face carefully, and found it had very little in common with the other faces around the table. There was a twinkle in his eyes. Had he not known better, K'Raqt would've called it ... amusement?  
  
  
  
- "Come nearer, and give these gentlemen your account of the events." Traq'Tor nodded invitingly. He also showed his teeth, but with a Klingon, showing your teeth could be a smile as easily as it could be a threath. But one of the members of the council, a thin, tall, scarred Klingon interrupted rudely.  
  
- "There is no need for that. Why are we even here? He will be punished for his betrayal by the court. In the mean time, we have no time for futilities like this coward!" The Klingon banged his fist on the table, the dull sound reverberating in the dark depths of the room. Several other council members nodded vigorously, signing their approval of this outburst.  
  
  
  
- "Learning details about your enemy hardly sounds like a futility to me." K'Raqt folded his arms in an unconciously defensive gesture. As soon as he was aware of it, he released his arms again, and stared around the table. He got many furious glances for his insolence to remind the Klingon of mantra 12 -- know your enemy. As head of this council, Traq'Tor was sitting silently on his throne. If he had any feelings about the insolence, he didn't show them -- except maybe for the twinkle in his eyes that hadn't died yet.  
  
  
  
- "So tell us, then! What do you know about this ... 'horrible' enemy?" Another Klingon inquired impatiently. He very nearly spat out the word 'horrible' while he flicked his wrist in a contemptuous gesture. Contempt was an emotion very easily communicated in the Klingon language. Both verbal and body language have several richly detailed and colorful ways to convey how someone deserved contempt, and K'Raqt deserved the contempt for someone who left his mother at the mercy of the enemy.  
  
  
  
K'Raqt sighed. He had worked himself in one of the least favorable corners possible. His shoulders hung slightly, as he shook his head slowly.  
  
  
  
- "Very little ..."  
  
  
  
- "Hah !"  
  
  
  
- "... about his origin," K'Raqt ignored the brief interruption, "but our scanners did give us some interesting facts at close range. For starters, his ship is entirely biological. When he popped up in the middle of our fleet, we were confused about the number of lifesigns we read..."  
  
  
  
- "Popped up ?" Several eyebrows quirked. "How could a ship surprise a Klingon military convoy with so many fine warriors, including my own son?" An older Klingon stood up and glared at K'Raqt. He wore the red-and-yellow insignia of the house Treq-Is.  
  
  
  
- "Your son must indeed have been one of the finest among the convoy, although I've never had the honor to meet him," K'Raqt acknowledged the older Klingon with a respectful nod. "The enemy tore up his ship first, even though it was not the closest by, or the most heavily armed. I can see no other explanation than that this creature considered Tarok Treq-Is the biggest threat."  
  
  
  
- "Wait a minute!" Someone else growled threateningly. The new Klingon was clearly younger, but slightly overweight. To humans, he would seem a fierce beast, but a Klingon warrior's eyes could spot the untrained flesh easily. The customary dagger on his side was heavily ornamented and perhaps the best give-away that this Klingon's talents lay somewhere outside the battlefield.  
  
  
  
- "When you say 'this creature', do you mean to say there was only one of it?"  
  
  
  
K'Raqt cursed himself under his breath. Of course, he had meant to tell them that. But he had hoped to ... prepare the honorables a bit. Wait at least until they would've accepted the idea of a superior enemy. Accepting superiority in numbers was one thing. But for the council to accept that a single individual had defeaten the cream of their naval army... K'Raqt did not expect that to happen somewhere this century.  
  
  
  
- "Only one ..." K'Raqt grumbled unwillingly. He hesitated briefly, but there was nothing to add that would make the impossible odds seem a bit more acceptable. "One member of an unknown species to annihilate 5 Battle Cruisers." He sighed and shrugged.  
  
  
  
The members of the Highest Council lost their self-control. They all rose and started shouting at him. Only Traq'Tor seemed nonsurplussed, leaning back in his chair and studying K'Raqt carefully.  
  
  
  
- "Impossible!" Someone shouted angrily. More fists banged on the table. "I will not tolerate this! How could he possibly destroy an entire ship ?! One of our ships must've been a thousand times his size!"  
  
  
  
K'Raqt shrugged impatiently. "Size does matter very little. Suppose you walked into a wooden shack, where the carcass was built of rotten wood. It would be several times your size, but still you would be able to break it down bare-handedly. Yet you couldn't damage a dilithium bar the size of your thumb, not even with a carefully crafted Bat'Leh."  
  
  
  
There was a slow growl, and the other members of the council grew silent. A massively muscular Klingon leaned closer to the table. When he placed his hands on the sturdy table, it bowed slightly under the powerful weight. Each of those hands could've crushed a human skull easily, and they were rumored to have cracked several Klingon skulls on bar fights as well. When the warrior leaned forward, the light played on the insignia he bore on his left chest, and K'Raqt recognized the crest. House Seh-Merh'Min was a proud and powerful race. And they had a long tradition in ship building, from even before warp ships were being built.  
  
  
  
- "Are you comparing my ships to a shack of rotten wood ?" he narrowed his eyes to glaring slits.  
  
  
  
- "No," K'Raqt refuted strongly, "I am making a point! Size is not necessarily an advantage! None of our battlecruisers were designed to take on a small, one-person interceptor, and so the craft could fly along freely for several minutes, until some fighter pilots had scrambled and launched! By that time, one of the battle cruisers was already in flames."  
  
  
  
There was some more outraged tumult at the enemy being ably to fly freely among five battlecruisers armed to the teeth, and K'Raqt was about to call out in frustration, but he saw Ster Seh-Merh'Min staring at him, and their eyes locked. Ster, although more of a warrior than an engineer, knew the intricate designs of all battlecruisers almost by heart. K'Raqt guessed that, when hearing of the defeat of his fleet and pride, he would've gone through the design sheets again and again, looking for a possible flaw.  
  
  
  
- "We were too big ... it was too small" K'Raqt almost whispered, and the sound of his voice must've gone lost in the angry shouting of all the other nobles, but Ster seemed to have understood.  
  
  
  
- "You had the smallest cruiser," he replied, his low rumble cutting through the noise of the assemblee and reaching K'Raqt clearly. "What did you do ?"  
  
  
  
- "We turned the ship away and t.."  
  
  
  
- "... and fled ! Right from the start of the battle!"  
  
  
  
- "... and took our distance!" K'Raqt argued, growing exasperated. "We had to give our locking computers a good angle!"  
  
  
  
- "A good tactic..." Ster Seh-Merh'Min conceded.  
  
  
  
- "Not my idea." K'Raqt interjected crossly. "Admiral Treq'Is' command was to disperse and take aim. Obviously, our cruiser was the first to have reached an acceptable distance."  
  
  
  
The chairman of the council let his mask of indifference slip momentarily to stare in bafflement at the young warrior in front of him. Who would be stupid enough to brush aside a compliment of a councillor? Especially when the rest of the council was so adamant about bringing the defendant to a cruel death ?  
  
  
  
- "But you never even fired!" Ster roared and banged his fists on the table, which bucked heavily. The entire council repeated the accusation angrily, jumped up, and everyone started shouting at once. The chaos from the Klingon court had infected the council as well.  
  
  
  
Traq'Thor, chairman of the High Council sighed heavily and signalled the guard to take the prisoner away. There would be no constructive argument, here. Not anymore.  
  
  
  
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Outside in the hallway, the guard surrounding K'Raqt was joined by a scarred veteran sporting grizzled manes and a mean limp.  
  
  
  
- "Follow me." the veteran instructed the commander of the guard, pointing to the exit a little further. The guard, respectful but wary, paused his step momentarily.  
  
  
  
- "I was instructed to take this one back to his prison." he ventured.  
  
  
  
- "No you weren't." the grizzled veteran cackled briefly. "But I was specifically instructed to take this cub with me." 


	3. Exile

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Whew, I managed to do another chapter!  
  
  
  
Before you start to read this next installment, I think you need to know what time-period this whole story is situated at. It's somewhere long before the Klingons have ever met humans. It must happen before the "Enterprise" series, and I think you'll understand why, when you read about K'Raqt's brand new ship. (which, btw, is a number of paragraphs I'm very proud of, and I've been thinking about that scene from as soon as I started this series).  
  
  
  
PS: yes, I know. It's the author's fault for not establishing a time frame in-story. I take all the blame, but I forgot to do so in my earlier chapters.  
  
  
  
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K'Raqt, the veteran, and 3 guards marched through a series of hallways and corridors without a single word being spoken. The entire trip, K'Raqt was casting secretive glances at the old warrior who had taken him away, but he had no idea whatsoever about the identity or the goals of his mysterious savior. For the moment though, K'Raqt stubbornly refused to give in to his curiosity.  
  
  
  
The trip led them far inward of the palace, as far as K'Raqt sense of orientation could tell him. Eventually, the little band reached a shuttle pod sporting a single, sleek shuttle with the windows completely blinded. The three guards unceremoniously shoved their prisoner inside, and chained him into a comfortable chair. The last guard had barely strapped himself in, when the shuttle jolted into the air with a high-pitched shriek.  
  
  
  
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When K'Raqt was pushed out of the shuttle again, he blinked his eyes against the bright, artificial light of a state-of-the-art shipyard. K'Raqt almost stumbled while he was taking in the view of the empty docking space, bustling with activity. It wasn't a very large shipyard, but his warrior's eye immediately caught the extended security measures, the thick armored plasteel around the hull, and a few cannons pointing outward, scanning the black emptiness ahead. That was an unusual amount of security measures, and K'Raqt did not assume these guards were here only because the infamous traitor was paying a visit to the station. Maybe they were expecting an important ship to dock soon?  
  
  
  
- "Aha!" The veteran interrupted K'Raqt's thoughts with a chuckle, and his perpetuous grin turned a bit more wolfish when he pointed out Ster Seh-Merh'Min, who spun on his heels and marched towards them. "Our beloved Ster has already arrived. I swear, that rat builds the fastest shuttles only for himself, and he gives the scraps to his beloved emperor!"  
  
  
  
- "Scraps?" the warrior/ship-builder bellowed, "You call the emperial shuttle a piece of scrap?!" The ship builder held out his fist as the old warrior did the same, and their knuckles connected in a strong, but less-than-formal gesture of mutual affection. K'Raqt made a mental note of the exchange, but kept his mouth shut.  
  
  
  
Ster cast a dark look at the prisoner. "It's good to see you here, Kha'sm'll, but I see you brought the cub with you. That means our emperor wasn't kidding when he told me about his plans for this fool?"  
  
  
  
- "Does he ever?" the veteran shrugged his shoulders, but his perpetual grin betrayed his amusement more than it conveyed sympathy or agreement. "But no, he wasn't kidding. The fool here gets the ship, and none of your laments have changed a thing. Or maybe they did, and that's why he decided to send you along!"  
  
  
  
Again, Ster turned to look at K'Raqt, who was visibly getting more and more confused about the turn of the conversation. "You're being sent on a penal expedition, K'Raqt Vehl of the clan Vehl. But in his grace -and only in his, I might add,- he decides to give you the finest ship I've ever constructed." Ster turned, and walked slowly towards the glass panel that offered a magnificent view on the dock. In a broad sweep of his arms, he seemed to encompass tons of empty space. "The finest ship ever to have been built for the Klingon Empire, I daresay!"  
  
  
  
K'Raqt stared at the dock, where he saw nothing but a few runabouts, and several maintenance drones hovering about. He turned to look at Kha'sm'll, who was still wearing his perpetual grin. Kha'sm'll nodded encouragingly, and K'Raqt stepped a little closer to the window pane.  
  
  
  
- "I don't ... underst...," he started, but K'Raqt's voice trailed away, as understanding was beginning to dawn on him. Those runabouts, and that maintenance drone, they were definitely flying in a particular pattern. And if he cocked his head just a little like this, and he squinted his eyes a bit... Instead of looking at the center of the dock, K'Raqt turned his head to inspect the outer borders of the space dock, and suddenly his eyes had trouble focusing. There was a certain shimmer in the air...  
  
  
  
"I mean, I don't see it!" K'Raqt corrected himself, and he stared at Ster in amazement. "Something's there, but I can't get my eyes to focus on it!"  
  
  
  
Kha'sm'll, who's arms were folded while he was watching K'Raqt, quirked his eyebrows towards Ster as if to say "See? Told you," and he stepped forward to admire the view himself.  
  
  
  
"Why don't you let the cub's eyes focus, now, Ster?"  
  
  
  
Ster turned to the opaque wall, dialed a number on a panel, and spoke briefly into the screen. When he turned to K'Raqt again, he was unable to hide the pride from his voice.  
  
  
  
- "Behold, the first prototype of the first in it's kind. This vessel will change the way space battles are fought!"  
  
  
  
The shimmering grew stronger, as if K'Raqt was looking at a patch of desert-heated air. He had to surpress the automatic reflex to shake his head or blink his eyes. The backdrop of plasteel reinforced walls faded away from vision. The maintenance drone inflated, distorted into more and more grotesque forms only to disappear completely, as if it had been moving in front of a giant distorting lens, and then had been taken away altogether.  
  
  
  
When finally, K'Raqt could focus his eyes again, he was staring at the dark-blue steel armor plating of a space vessel. The ship was everywhere. The same dock that had been looking so empty a while back, was now struggling to house the giant spacecraft. In order to fit the dock, this ship was hanging lopsidedly. One wing spanned all the way to the ceiling of the space dock, while the other disappeared under the room where K'Raqt and the others were standing. The cockpit of the ship was far ahead of the rest of the ship, connected to the body by a tube, and it hung in close proximity to the trio of Klingons. K'Raqt could not shake off the feeling that a giant steel bird was craning its neck to peer through the glass at the miniature figures they must have seemed.  
  
  
  
"A 'bird of prey', we call it," Ster spoke softly, unwilling to break the spell, and pleased at the awe-inspired look of this young prisoner and soon-to-be captain, K'Raqt. "I have been working on it for three decades. Its existence, its very feasability, is a secret that I've been carrying around for nearly all my life. Last week, I could finally tell my emperor that my life's project had come to an end. And he rewards me by giving the ship to someone else," Ster added bitterly, as he spun on his heels and left the room.  
  
  
  
K'Raqt stared at the back of Ster Seh-Merh'Min as he was leaving, and then stared at the ship again.  
  
  
  
- "Doesn't it sound like fun?" the old veteran had closed in on him, and was now talking softly, almost absently. "You're banned by your emperor, but at least you get to command a ship. It's an experimental vessel: too slow to run, to weak to fight, and it could blow up any minute all by itself. You will be accompanied by an old veteran who envies you your youth, and by a ship builder who envies you your command of the ship -Oh, and the crew hates your guts because they've been fed the propaganda about you betraying your empire!"  
  
  
  
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Two days later, K'Raqt was manning the captain's chair of the brand new prototype. The two officer's seats were manned by Kha'sm'll on one side, and Ster Seh-Merh'Min on the other side. The rest of the crew was standing at attention near their console. They were casting curious looks at the old veteran in the officer seat, hateful looks at the young one in the captain's chair, and fearful looks at their clan leader.  
  
  
  
The first Bird of Prey in Klingon history moved slowly, carefully, stately, out of the space dock. Once it was freed of its cramped hiding place, the wings righted themselves, and now the bird was truly flying. The engines lit up softly as the power supply was increased slightly.  
  
  
  
Inside the cockpit, a radar beeped.  
  
  
  
- "7 vessels detected. Their shields are up."  
  
  
  
The three commanding officers frowned. None of them had suspecting a farewell committee. As they were about to comment on how this depart was supposed to be a secret, the viewscreen came to life, featuring an assemblee of Klingon warriors. K'Raqt recognized almost every single member of the Highest Council, except of course one, who was sitting right next to him.  
  
  
  
- "Seh-Merh'Min! We cannot believe you support this treachery! Do you mean to tell us you knew of this farce all along!"  
  
  
  
Ster erected himself from his seat and rose to his full length. He crossed his one arm in front of his chest in a gesture that was both a formal greeting for a member of the Highest Council, and a not-so-subtle hint at the rude ommission of the other council members.  
  
  
  
- "I learned as soon as my emperor told me of this ... 'farce'. And I do as I was commanded by my emperor." Ster crossed his arms in a way that signalled nothing would stop him from doing so. There was a staring contest between Ster and the other council members, and a few even turned their eyes away from the piercing glare. But the tallest warrior of the notables simply nodded, his mouth contorted in a snarl.  
  
  
  
"Very well then, Ster! Our only intention was to contact the traitor so he would know who's vengeance he is suffering. But now that you're on the ship as well, we've learned of the rat who made this all possible. I shall take over the shipyards from your clan with great pleasure!" he spat into the monitor, and switched off the communication.  
  
  
  
- "Sir, all ships are powering up their weapons!" A few of the Klingons aboard the Bird of Prey shifted their feet uneasily. A prototype vessel was not supposed to be put to battle so soon during its maiden voyage. Ster growled in response.  
  
  
  
- "Red Alert. Battlestations. Get ready for cloaking device!"  
  
  
  
- "No !" K'Raqt interrupted loudly and cut off any more commands from the ship builder. "It's me who gets to say it. Red Alert, man the battlestations! And don't -I repeat- DON'T prepare the cloaking device. Shields up, evasive maneuvers. Run for the second moon."  
  
  
  
The Bird of Prey sped towards the second moon, followed by seven small, but fiercely armed space ships of various clans. As the light dimmed and the ship's claxon began to blare, K'Raqt caught the frown on Ster's face.  
  
  
  
"I assume the council members know nothing of this cloaking device, am I correct?"  
  
  
  
Ster shrugged. "I would think not, but then again, they weren't supposed to know about you leaving orbit today, either."  
  
  
  
"Well," K'Raqt shrugged glumly, "if we're going to give away the secret of cloaking, at least we can do it in style." He turned towards the helmsman. "As soon as we're out of their radar, slingshot the ship around the moon. Tactical!" K'Raqt turned towards another console. "When we're behind the moon, drop the shields and activate the cloak. If all goes well, they'll be looking for us, and we'll be watching over their shoulder."  
  
  
  
It turned out the fleet knew nothing about the cloaking device. When they sped past the moon, the seven ships could no longer find the renegade prototype on their radar. The fleet spread around in a standard search pattern, moving about erratically, sending radar pulses in all directions.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, the Bird of Prey was hovering right behind the biggest destroyer, the command ship of councillor Treq-Is. The viewscreen of the Bird of Prey showcased the tail of the command ship in great detail, from a close distance. Every crew member instinctively hushed their movements as they were stalking this big monster, and the cockpit of the little bird grew eerily silent.  
  
  
  
- "A single volley, right in their engines, that would teach those bastards what it means to betray your emperor!" Ster whispered, and he clenched his fist.  
  
  
  
- "It'd be just like - no, it would even be even better than kicking that prick right in his arse!" Kha'sm'll agreed softly, and he grinned once again.  
  
  
  
K'Raqt overheard the whispered conversation with a frown. He cocked his head to listen to his crew, moving about silently and watching the viewscreen with the war destroyer so close in view. The captain shook his head in disbelief, and reached for his own console. With a few button presses, the claxon of the ship started blaring again, a deafening sound that drowned out every thought of silence. When he switched it off again, everyone was watching their captain in horror, their ears still ringing. With an impatient flick of his wrist, K'Raqt switched on the intercom and started shouting loudly into the microphone.  
  
  
  
- "I would like to take this opportunity to tell you all something about physics. You see, sound needs a carrier, like the atmosphere. There is no such thing in space. That means no matter how much noise we make, it will NOT reveal our position! The enemy will NOT hear us! Thank you." K'Raqt switched off the intercom again, and rose from his captain's chair.  
  
  
  
- "Set course for the designated area. I will be in my room. Call me if anything interesting happens."  
  
  
  
When K'Raqt had left, Ster and Kha'sm'll were still staring at each other. Ster was still trying to recover from the start he had got when the alarm had rang. Kha'sm'll, on the other hand, was grinning widely. Ster could not hide an embarassed smile, and Kha'sm'll started laughing out loud. Soon, Ster was grinning, too.  
  
  
  
- "For sure, I thought he wanted to get us killed, when he set off the alarm!"  
  
  
  
- "Gave me a bit of a start, too," Kha'sm'll conceded, and he slapped Ster on the shoulder. "But what do you think? Has he got spunk, or what?"  
  
  
  
Ster shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.  
  
  
  
- "He might have." the former ship builder, now renegade officer admitted. 


End file.
